Faeth Fiadha, Manannán’s Cloak Of Concealment

In Irish mythology, the Faeth Fiadha (pronounced feh fee-o-ha) is the name of the mysterious mantle of fairy mist which blurs the border between the world of the mortal, and the magical realm of the Sidhe, the Otherworld known as Tir na Nog. The term means ‘Lord/ Master of Mist’, but the Faeth Fiadha is also referred to as the ‘Cloak of Concealment’.

As God of the Sea, Manannán has always been associated with the Faeth Fiadha. He was said to have possessed several magical talismans, which he loaned out to others on occasion; a ship named ‘Wavesweeper’, that needed no sails; a helmet of flame; a sword named Fragarach, meaning ‘the Answerer’, which could pierce any armour; a white horse named Aonbharr of the Flowing Mane, which could travel as easily over water as solid land, and ‘the Cloak of Concealment’.

Most people at some point in their life have witnessed the approach of a cloud of dense fog, draping itself like a soft blanket across the landscape, or pouring in off the sea… it’s an awesome experience, blotting out not just sight, but sound also, dulling the senses, suffocating although light as air, inciting the fear of becoming lost, and magnifying panicky feelings of extreme solitude.

Imagine then, how terrifying this must have felt to our ancient ancestors, who believed that fog was liminal, that they had unknowingly trespassed into the land of the Sidhe. No mortal was allowed, unless invited by Manannán himself, or one of his daughters. Our ancestors were well aware of the time differences between their world and his, they would have heard all the tales of old, the myths and legends such as that of Oisin and Niamh of the Golden Hair.

Oisin fell in love with Niamh, who was Manannán’s daughter. She carried him away through the Faeth Fiadha and into the Otherworld on her father’s magical white horse, Aonbharr. They lived there in great happiness for three years, after which time Oisin began to miss his son, Oscar, his father, Fionn mac Cumhall, and the men of the Fianna, and his home back in Eire.

Sadly, Niamh agreed to let Oisin return, but warned him not to get down off Aonbharr’s back. Oisin was shocked to find that three hundred years had passed in Ireland whilst he had been away, and a fall from his horse meant that his feet touched Irish soil, thus instantly transforming him into a very old man. He later died, but not before meeting St Patrick and conveniently converting to Christianity…

My husband’s grandmother told him of her own such experience. She had been returning home from work one evening, and was crossing a field when the fog came suddenly down. Try as she might, no matter which way she turned, she couldn’t find her way out of the field, a field she knew very well, as she traversed it every day on her journey to and from work.

Finally, exhausted, she curled up in the cold grass and fell asleep. When she awoke the next morning, the fog had lifted, and she found that she had slept all night right beside the gate through which she normally exited the field. Personally, I wonder if she had helped herself to a wee dram or two of something to keep her warm on her way home, but I guess we’ll never know…

I live on top of a hill. Normally, we get a fine view across the valley towards Ballyjamesduff and the hill beyond it called Slieve Glah. In the winter, Slieve Glah is often white with snow, even when we on our hill aren’t. And we can watch the fog roll in over its summit and charge down the valley towards us.

According to the Lebor Gebála Érenn (an ancient text known as ‘the Book of Invasions’), one version of the Tuatha de Danann story claims that they arrived in Ireland from the sky, riding on great dark clouds of fog which obscured the sky for three days and nights.

Also, the Danann surrounded Ireland with the fog in an attempt to prevent the invading Milesians from landing, thus disguising the land so that it took on the shape of a huge pig (?), much to the conquerors confusion… and mine… 😁.

After their defeat by the Milesians, the Danann were tricked into descending to their hollow hills, where they were to reside from now on, leaving the land above ground to the mortal race.

It was at this point that Manannán stepped in and came to their rescue. He found all the most secret mounds and valleys for the Denann, and shrouded them with the Faeth Fiadha, to hide them from prying human eyes.

Coincidentally, there is a prayer, or hymn attributed to St Patrick which is called the Faeth Fiadha, which he is said to have written in 433AD. It is also more commonly known as ‘St Patrick’s Breastplate’. In it, he is very damning of all things pre-Christian… here is an excerpt;

“I summon todayAll these powers between me and those evils,Against every cruel and merciless powerthat may oppose my body and soul,Against incantations of false prophets,Against black laws of pagandom,Against false laws of heretics,Against craft of idolatry,Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul;Christ to shield me todayAgainst poison, against burning,Against drowning, against wounding,So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.”

By the way, does anyone know what evil smiths are accused of, other than the magic of transforming the bones of the earth into the forging of weapons and tools? I am mystified as to why they would be included in this diatribe, sorry, prayer.

And now I leave you with my own description of the Cloak of Concealment, as experienced by my hero, Conor Kelly, in my first book, Conor Kelly and The Four Treasures of Eirean…

“Be wary of the mist, Conor. It is an enchantment fashioned by the great Sea-God, Manannan, to keep Tir na Nog free from unwanted attention. You are safe now because you are with me, but if you were alone, the Faeth Fiadha as it is known in Irish, the Cloak of Concealment, would not tolerate your presence.”

The whiteness about him was complete. He could see nothing. It burned his eyes. It played tricks on his mind. It danced and whirled like cold white flames, wrapping itself sinuously about him. He couldn’t tell if they were going forward or backward, or even if they were moving at all. Through it, Annalee’s voice floated eerily to his ears, muffled and distant.

It was so dazzling it was hard to keep his eyes open, and he had to keep blinking. It shimmered and sparkled, beguiling him and luring him on into its depths. It showered him with the gift of tiny diamond dew drops, and wreathed itself around his limbs like a living, silky garment. He felt like he was being absorbed by it, becoming a part of it. He was no longer a separate being of warm blood and flesh and breath, but a wispy white wraith, an insubstantial parasite on the body of this living, vaporous creature. Strangely, the prospect felt comforting. He would be rid of his heavy, cumbersome, prison-like body once and for all.

Gradually, after an indeterminate length of time, he detected with reluctance a shudder in the ethereal embrace of his new companion. The mist was being stirred by a breeze. The slight trembling became the folding and unfurling of a ship’s sail out on the ocean, and the fog began to blow apart like great ragged clouds. Beyond them Conor saw colour, which swam about dizzily before his parched eyes, until it resolved itself into a glorious panorama of sea and mountain.

He gasped. Is this Tir na Nog, Annalee?

There was no reply. Turning his head, he found that she was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, Conor felt giddy with the shock of this realisation. She must be either lost in the fog, or had abandoned him.

42 Comments on “Faeth Fiadha, Manannán’s Cloak Of Concealment”

You are so right, Eilis. Isn’t it funny how all the ‘great’ religions, not just Christianity, bang on about thou shalt not kill as one of the fundamental tenets, and yet have spent hundreds of years fighting holy wars and justifying murder and brutality because it suits their function of social control?

I have a pile of leaflets from Finbar’s rescue association in a pile by the door. As soon as they admit to being JWs we tell them we’re glad they called, we have something they ought to read and thrust a couple of leaflets at them.

Well as it turns out, I’ve commented quite a bit on here already. 🙂 But I just wanted to say, Ali, fabulous post! And, I absolutely love fog. Berkeley gets a version sometimes, not nearly as spectacular as the fog in Ireland which I hope to experience one day (without disappearing from the world, thanks.) 🙂 In any case, the fog where I live can be quite mystical and does feel somewhat sentient–but then I often feel like stones and wind are sentient, at least in an in-between way, so fog feels similar to me. I love your description from your book, too! Oh and I do plan to write you soon and catch up, so much has been going on that I’m now trying to rest and recover from a bug. But then I’ll be in touch, it’s been too long!

Thanks Éilis, and please feel free to comment as much as you like… you are always welcome here and should feel comfortable in doing so! Besides, I love when a post sparks a debate and interaction between commenters!

Its actually sunny here today, but cold. Gotta make the most of it, might not see much more of it this side of Imbolc, lol!

Smiths had a quasi-magical status in much of the Celtic world given that they worked with the elements. The book “Early Irish Ironworking” by BG Scott has a section in the back that discusses language, terminology, and mythology surrounding the blacksmith (or “gobae”) in Ireland. I don’t recall the specifics as I typically use the rest of the book for reference when reconstructing artifacts more than its linguistic and mythologic information. But I will re-read that section and post again if I find out more.

Thank you Dan! That would be really kind of you! Are you a metalworker yourself? I have seen mini courses available where you can learn ancient forging techniques, and I’d love to have a go, but understandably, they’re not cheap. What kind of artifacts are you making?

Yes I have, but I didnt realise you were a blacksmith… it must be a strange feeling to know you are doing something which our ancient ancestors used to do. Dont worry about the book, I will look it up although its probably not an easy publication to get hold of, I’m guessing.

Oh! Hehe, yes I’ve been a blacksmith for nearly 25 years. And yes, it’s a phenomenal feeling to remake (and use!) items that my ancient ancestors made using the same techniques they did.

Yes, the book will probably be quite hard to find. So I’ve taken the liberty of OCR’ing the pages in question. With any luck this will come through.

Although usually described as saer ‘wright, carpenter’, Joseph, father of Jesus, is called Iosep gaba ‘Joseph the blacksmith’ in one passage in PH (113.2585), suggesting that the blacksmith’s calling was not considered inappropriate (if in contradiction to tradition) to the Holy Family. In his discussion of early Irish Imrama, Oskamp (ICM2 3lf) draws attention to the episode of the death of a smith in the second voyage episode of Betha Brennain Cluana Ferta. Following the death of his smith and, finding his craft without an anchor, Brendan blesses the hands of one of his companions, thus bestowing on him the skills of the forge (BNnE 1,65, §96). Oskamp suggests that in an earlier tradition, the character who took on the role of the smith was a wright (saer) who otherwise plays no part in the tale as we see it now. He goes on:

It seems therefore very likely that at an earlier
stage of the tradition the miracle was that the
wright took over the smith’s work, perhaps
thanks to magical incantations – the priest and
the blessing being the Christian adaptation of the motif.

This focusses nicely on the high status afforded the blacksmith in Irish literature, underscoring not only the secular demarcation between workers in iron and workers in other materials, but also the traces of the magico-religious status of the smith which survived the comipg of Christianity, and lasted through to recent times, to be preserved in the folk-tales recorded by, amongst others, Lady Gregory (1970, 274-275) and Danaher (1962). Sithcenn, the smith who practised his skills at Tara is described as . . .
Sithcheann the Smith of Temraig and prophet of note … ‘ (Stokes 1903,194). Although far
less emphasis was given to his supernatural powers than is the case, for example, in Norse literature, even the 7th century prayer ascribed to Patrick and known as Faed Fiada included an invocation against

I summon today all these virtues …
against spells of women, smiths and druids.”
Trip. I, 50. 19ff.

We get a further glimpse of the supernatural power ascribed to the pre-Christian blacksmith in Sceta Eogain (CMM 68.11). In the account of the birth of Cormac mac Art to Achtan, the daughter of Ole Aiche. a man described both as gobae and drui (SG I.235; 6 Cathasaigh 1977,49), we are told:

When Cormac was born the druid-smith Ole
Aiche put five protective [magic] circles about
him, against wounding, against drowning,
against fire, against enchantment(?), against
wolves, that is to say, against every evil.

While various professions are characterised by skills or associated tools in Triads, the supernatural is pressed on the blacksmith:

Three things that constitute a blacksmith:
Nethin’s punch, the fire-pit of the Morrigan, the
Dagda’s anvil
Triads 120

It is also worth remembering in this context the association of ironworking with Neolithic tombs (ct. Chapter 6.5), which provides archaeological support for the link between the smith and the supernatural.

The most prominent role of the blacksmith in the heroic literature of other early societies, that of armourer to the gods, is only occasionally permitted to show through in the person of divine Gobniu (for detailed discussion, see O’Rahilly 1971, 308-317, esp. 314f; CMT2 p. 125). We may see Gobniu as the pre-Christian Irish equivalent of Greek Hephaistos, Roman Vulcan 18 , and Germanic Weiand, and of the veritable pantheon of divine smiths to be found in the mythologies of iron-using peoples past and present (Eliade 1978, 97ff). He gave his name to a (now lost) law-text on blacksmithing (* Bretha Goibnenn) one of a group including Bretha Dein Checht, assigned by Binchy to his Nemed collection of tracts (Binchy 1955,1966,2: Kelly, F. 1988,62). It is referred to in a commentary from Uraicecht Becc: crethine 7 luctine 7 dianecht 7 goibnend . CIH V:1614.12

The best apprentice advocate, i.e. an advocate with knowledge of the judgements of Crectne and Luchtaine and Dian Cecht and Gobniu …

For the battle of Magh Tuired fought by the Tuatha De Danann against the Fomoire, Gobniu and his fellow craftsmen (Credne, the cerd, the bronzesmith, and Luchtaine the saer, the wright) promised to supply from their forge 19 infallibly lethal weapons:

96 Then the men of rank among the Tuatha De
were assembled around Lug. He asked his smith,
Gobniu, what power he wielded for them.
97 “Not hard to say”, he said. “Even if the men
of Ireland continue the battle for seven years, for
every spear that separates from its shaft or sword
that will break in battle, I will provide a new
weapon in its place. No spearpoint which my
hand forges will make a missing cast. No skin
which it pierces will taste life afterwards. Dolb,
the Fomorian smith, cannot do that. ”
CMT2 50—51

and in the pauses in the fighting, Gobniu and his fellow armourers provided a quite miraculous logistic support for the warriors:

122 One thing which became evident to the
Fomoire in the battle seemed remarkable to
them. Their weapons, their spears and their
swords were blunted; and those of their men who
were killed did not come back the next day. That
was not the case with the Tuatha De Danaann:
although their weapons were blunted one day,
they were restored the next because Gobniu the
smith was in the smithy making swords and
spears and javelins. He would make these weapons
with three strokes. CMT2 54-55

In addition to the supernatural powers ascribed to the attached to the metal (e.g. Eliade 1978). In Duanaire Finn, Fionn and his companions encounter three witches who assault them with magic:

Rough grey iron of wizardry they had mounted
on poles: giddiness and faint sickness came over
Fionn and the Fian at the sight of them.
With magic of evil-dealing they spell-bound our
chief; they left Fionn thereafter a withered quaking
ancient. Duan. Finn I, 92.110f

Iron finds magical use in search of truth, in the tale Iarnn Luchtna, a section of of the series of ordeals outlined in Scel na Fir Flatha (Stokes 1891, 192.23).
Here we find:

That is, Luchtna the druid went to study in
Brittany, and there he saw a strange thing (used)
for discerning truth and falsehood, namely,
some iron was hallowed by the druids, and then
cast into a fire until it became red, and then it was
placed on the palm of the accused. Now if guilt
were with him the iron used to burn him. But it
did him no harm unless he were guilty. Thereafter
Luchta told them that it would be needed “for
us, the men of Erin,” he said “to distinguish
between truth and falsehood.” Luchtna
afterwards brought with him his hallowed iron,
and it was (used) in distinguishing between truth
and falsehood. Hence then (the ordeal of) the
hallowed iron is still continually practised by the
Gael.

It is likely that there are many more references of this nature, and this is a field which would repay further study.

In Christian times, the smith still enjoyed high status, particularly when his work was dedicated to the glory of God, although his tools were also pressed into the service of the Devil as instruments of torture as in the poem “The Harrowing of Hell” (Bergin 1910)

Arise! make ready your bellows, take up your
old sledgehammers; let not the smiting of the
deceiver be a second time an idle boast.

He was also circumscribed by Christian observance, as, according to Cain Domnaig (‘The Law of
Sunday’), smiths, like druids and satirists, were forbidden either to travel or to receive payment on the Sabbath (O’Keeffe 1905, 208.31). A number of prominent figures of church and state boasted of family connections with blacksmithing (cf. Joyce 1903, II, 325f) , including St. Bairre of Cork, of whose father, Amairgen, it was said:

• .. This Amairgen was a notable smith, chief
smith to the king of Rathlenn at that time …

If the identification of Garannes, Co. Cork (0 Riordain 1942) with Rath Raithleann is correct, then it is a nice thought that there we might have some of the remains of Amairgen’s work! Fortchern, called goba in Bethu Phatraic, one of three smiths listed as members of the saint’s retinue (Trip. 1,266), was said to be a son of Laegaire, the high king of Ireland.
The master smith, who commanded a high honourprice (Kelly, F. 1988,62), entertained royalty in the heroic literature, and was seated well above the salt according to the theoretical protocol specified in Tech Midchuarta (LL II, 116f). This status parallels that of his counterparts in the Germanic world. His forge, recognised as an important focus in the community, was one of the places to which, according to the Laws, notice of a waif and of straying horses had to be sent,
amongst other places.

It worked! Thank you! Fascinating stuff… I knew of some of this already, but some is new to me. I particularly like the link of the Druid and the Smith, that makes sense. The hallowed iron seems a bit strange; you’d confess to anything with that in your hand lol! Sounds more like a Christian technique to me!

Ok… here’s a question for you. I’ve read in a few places of a link between smiths and brewing, which always seemed a bit of an odd connection to me. Know anything about that? Off the top of your head, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other stuff to be doing…

Yes, I’ve heard of the connection between blacksmiths and brewing too. I don’t have a lot of details but a couple of legends make comment about the blacksmith god Goibhnui providing a feast for the gods and his beer made them immortal.

Unfortunately, I’ve tried brewing (mead) and despite how easy it’s supposed to be I’m really bad at it. I though it would have been cool to be a brewing-blacksmith just like Guibhnui, oh well. I do make awesome cheese though 🙂

You know there are so many bits, pieces, and references to other stories (that are now lost) buried inside the legends. It’d be awesome to pick up one as a starting point to spin a whole new yarn.

Yes it would be cool to be a brewing blacksmith like Goibhnui, but a cheese-making blacksmith is pretty cool too! In fact, just being a blacksmith is cool enough! Did you do anything special for samhain?

Yes it would be cool to be a brewing blacksmith like Goibhnui, but a cheese-making blacksmith is pretty cool too! In fact, just being a blacksmith is cool enough! Did you do anything special for samhain?

Hi Chris, unfortunately, when I clicked your link, the site told me that I have reached a page unavailable for viewing, or have reached my quota for viewing, and the page was blank. Any chance of copying and pasting those lines into a comment???

I know the smith was highly regarded, and that his knowledge was secret and guarded, but I fail to see how they could make old Pat’s list of practitioners of evil… did people of that time not use metal implements at all? What a double standard! I guess that’s no surprise!

I tried Ali, but the page wouldn’t let me even print it (it seems to be a Google Books page), so I could scan and send it to you.
The book is on Amazon, but I can’t even tell you what page number the quote is on:

You have to love the old ones and the way they were so in awe of nature. When you have that to contend with on a daily basis, not surprising that the fanciful, abstract laws of the new god fell on deaf ears to begin with. Interesting that the Patrick’s Breastplate is transcribed in very modern English. He spoke Latin and presumable Old Irish and his mother tongue would have been another variant of Gaelic I suppose. Wonder what he actually said. If anything. All the witch and magic stuff sounds very late medieval.

The more I read about Patrick, the less I like him. What was his agenda? Why didn’t he just go home when he had the chance? Why go down in history as the man who screwed up the psyche of an entire nation for two thousand years?

I know! He pops his head up everywhere! Mind you, he is probably as much a victim of all this as anyone else. The power-hungry heads of religion are arguably more dangerous than power hungry politicians!

I tend to agree, Jane. Whether or not Patrick himself had his hand in it or whether he was the excuse for messing with the heads and hearts of generations upon generations of souls, and why a great deal of ancient history from pagan Ireland has been lost or shamelessly modified, (and I believe some of both might be the most accurate truth to go on,) the damage is done and his name is associated with it. I do try to hold out judgment on a single person and judge much more harshly the times and system in which someone like Patrick would grow up and be indoctrinated. Beliefs are powerful and not shaken easily. Unfortunately when it comes to respect for nature, love and tolerance toward ourselves and other humans and beings, power within versus power over, a sense of balance and necessity rather than pure good and evil, understanding ourselves as inextricably part of rather than the rulers over ecosystems and the environment, many interpretations of Christianity have done quite a disservice of which I doubt that even the actual Jesus would approve. Unconditional love just doesn’t walk hand in hand with domination and control, fear, discrimination and prejudice, spiritual superiority, or the destruction of a culture, regardless of the name of the religion and god in which it’s carried out. My opinion for what it is worth.